


Fire & Light

by Sed



Series: Across Enemy Lines [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Hair-pulling, M/M, Prison Sex, Rimming, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: Aslightlydifferent take on Anduin's trip down to the Stockade to talk with Saurfang.





	Fire & Light

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired. Blizzard's writers really needs to familiarize themselves with the term _kabedon_.
> 
> Obviously I've utilized some of the dialogue from the cinematic. I also took some... liberties with how that whole visit went down.

“What I _want_ ,” Saurfang snarled dangerously, “is my Horde back.”

Anduin could feel the orc’s warm breath on his skin, and in the low light he saw the motes of dust and fine stone that had been unsettled by the shock of his fist. He took a breath, held it, and then let it out again, allowing his fear to ebb with the slowing of his pulse. This was not Garrosh Hellscream; he was not in danger. Not this time.

He expected Saurfang to withdraw. The question that still burned to be answered was waiting on the tip of his tongue, and Anduin swallowed it back. He waited; Saurfang watched him, and in that uneasy tableau something seemed to break. A fracture that gave Anduin a look past the elder orc’s armor—what he wore that _couldn’t_ be seen. He was uncertain, which was to be expected, of course, but there was something else. Anduin peered into Saurfang’s eyes, looking for some sort of answer.

Then he saw it: sadness, _regret_. Without thinking, he reached up and set an open palm to Saurfang’s chest. Some measure of comfort in that dark cell that had become the high overlord’s home since his capture. It was foolish, and although Anduin knew that, he couldn’t bring himself to withdraw for fear of his own safety. He’d been warned that his compassion would be his undoing; friends and enemies alike had made it clear how little they thought of his bleeding heart, but it never deterred him. He could no more change his nature than the orc towering over him, bearing down and breathing hard in the shadow of the cell.

“Saurfang—”

With a speed that belied his size, Saurfang lashed out, taking Anduin’s gloved hand in his own and throwing it back against the stone wall. He shifted his grip and held it there at the wrist, his enormous hand dwarfing the plate bracer beneath his fingers. Anduin’s breath caught in his throat and he brought his other arm up to fend off the attack, but there was no answering blow. He flexed his trapped hand, tested the grip keeping it in place, and found that it was loose. If he wanted, he could escape the cage of muscle and worn leather that held him there. _If_ he wanted. Anduin took a moment to consider why the thought of freeing himself seemed so wrong.

He was still in the midst of his self-examination when Saurfang shifted, raising his free hand to Anduin’s chin. With just a flick of his fingertip he brought Anduin’s gaze up to meet his, and smiled—what passed for a smile on an orc’s face, anyway. “This armor doesn’t quite fit you, boy,” he rumbled. His fingers slipped from Anduin’s chin and caught at his collar. The plate dragged under the weight of his arm, forcing Anduin to look up if he wanted to maintain his challenging stare. “Why did you wear it to come down here? Unarmed, alone—” He made a show of looking over Anduin’s exposed head and neck. “Vulnerable. It would be easy to kill you. Why? Did you want to prove to me that you weren’t afraid?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“No, you’re not. And you’re a fool for it,” Saurfang spat. He pushed off from Anduin’s chest and turned away, pacing back across the small cell to the wooden table against a nearby wall. Food and drink were laid out, none of it yet touched. Anduin watched as he hunched over the table, leaning on the backs of his knuckles. His broad shoulders stretched the leather harness and pulled at the rings that held it. He let out a long, weary sigh.

“Is there anything you need?” Anduin found himself asking. It was such an empty question, and yet it seemed necessary to say something. The silence grew around them each time it returned, and it was like the buzz of an insect in Anduin’s ears. He had come to make a point, to make an offer, and now…

Saurfang chuckled. “No,” he said. It was both an answer and a dismissal.

Anduin started to turn, meaning to leave, but then he stopped. He was not a boy, and he was not a fool. “Tell me why you spared my life,” he asked—demanded, without any of the force of an actual demand. He knew Saurfang would see it for what it was. How he would choose to respond was another matter entirely.

Without looking at him, Saurfang shook his head. “No,” he repeated, this time making no effort to hide his disappointment. “Go back to your keep. Leave me here, where I belong.”

It was not the answer Anduin had expected, and not one he was prepared to argue, either. He had come to the Stockade anticipating fury, mockery, perhaps even another attempt on his life; not this sad resignation and despair. Saurfang’s refusal was a surprise, and it left Anduin with no real alternative but to swallow his pride and leave the matter to rest. Standing in the cell, petulantly refusing to leave until he received an answer, would only widen the divide between his cause and the high overlord’s.

Nodding only for his own sake, Anduin turned back to the heavy iron door. This time it was Saurfang who stopped him. “And next time you come to me,” he said, his voice barely carrying across the cell, “come prepared for battle.”

 

 

When Anduin returned that night he wore only a simple shirt and pants. His leather boots made no sound as he tread the stones to Saurfang’s cell. The rattle of the keys made a terrible racket as he unlocked and opened the door, but no one came to investigate; no one would dare defy the the king’s command. He had instructed the guards to wait outside, well away from the prisoner’s cell. What needed to be said between himself and Saurfang was not for others to overhear.

The orc lifted his head as Anduin entered, pulling on one of the bars to drag the door shut behind him. “I told you to come ready for battle,” Saurfang said. There was no fire behind it, no threat in his posture as he sat slumped against the wall. He seemed perfectly willing to accept that Anduin had ignored his warning. Just as he had accepted everything else. There was no dignity to it, and they both knew that. No sense in pretending otherwise.

“If you intend to fight me, you can fight me like this,” Anduin told him matter-of-factly. He took a seat on the bed that lay in the center of the cell. The rough wood dug into his skin through the cloth pants. He tried not to let his discomfort show. “But something tells me you’re not interested in fighting.”

“You would already be dead if I were,” Saurfang returned. He looked up and finally met Anduin’s gaze.

“Is that why you didn’t kill me in Lordaeron? Because you weren’t interested?”

A derisive snort was his only answer. Saurfang shifted on the floor and rearranged his arms so that they were draped across his knees. There was something different about him; some change in the set of his shoulders, and the heaviness of his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. It was a far cry from his snarls and posturing when he had backed Anduin against the wall of the cell earlier that day.

Something had to be done. Pity had stoked Saurfang’s ire before, and perhaps pity could rouse him from his melancholy now. Anduin crossed the floor and knelt in front of him. He reached out to place his now-bare palm on the orc’s chest, just as he had the last time they were face to face. He thought it would be snatched away again. Instead he found himself tumbling forward, suddenly pinned to Saurfang’s chest by an enormous, unyielding arm against his back. There was no give this time, no offer of escape. Saurfang’s face was only a few scant inches from his own.

“I told you to come ready for battle,” he repeated. “Instead, you came ready to die.” His hold shifted and he spread his fingers, palming Anduin’s back in a shockingly warm parody of an embrace. “Or did you come for something else?” he asked. The low rumble of his voice vibrated through the leather and cloth between them and rolled down Anduin’s chest like distant thunder.

It was no longer fear that prickled at his nerves and made the sweat bead on his skin. Anduin swallowed back the lump that had settled itself in his throat. He was keenly aware that he had landed, more or less, in Saurfang’s lap. His one knee was settled between the orc’s legs, and he sat astride one very thick, muscular thigh. He felt another tug from the hand at his back. “Answer me, boy,” Saurfang said.

Anduin’s lips were dry. He wanted to wet them, but dark eyes were holding his and he knew—he _knew_ what Saurfang would see there if he allowed himself to do it. “I am King Anduin Wrynn,” he said, voice shaking, “do not—”

“Then answer me, _King Anduin_.”

The words worked at his jaw, and Anduin found himself fighting to catch his breath. He tried to sit up straight. It only wedged him further into Saurfang’s grip. “It was necessary. I want to know why you spared my life.”

“And why did you come _back_ ,” Saurfang prompted.

He said it as though he was sure he already knew the answer, and the implication was clear; Anduin sputtered in outrage, and he could feel his skin flush with embarrassment. He tried to wriggle out of the orc’s grasp, but it was like trying to move Blackrock Mountain with a gentle nudge. “Let me go,” he commanded, with no real force behind the order.

All at once Saurfang released him, and Anduin nearly fell backwards. A quick hand at his collar kept him from landing sprawled in the dust and straw scattered across the floor. Saurfang waited for him to regain his balance, then let go again.

Where the orc’s large hand had been pressed against his back now felt uncomfortably cold. Anduin shivered. He idly thought of the cloak he’d left in his chambers, hanging from a peg where it would do him no good. “This was a mistake,” he said. Using Saurfang’s considerable shoulders for leverage he pushed himself up to his feet and turned away. The bed lay between him and the door, and for some reason that he couldn’t quite understand, the thought of dodging it to make his escape was more humiliating than what had just happened. Nearly happened. Anduin fought the urge to bury his face in his hands.

He felt Saurfang behind him before he heard the orc’s thoughtful hum in his ear. “I will tell you,” he said. Anduin almost turned, but strong hands held his arms, keeping him still. “ _After_.”

Something tight in his chest came undone at all the promise heaped upon that one word. Anduin let out a breath, closer to a choked sob, and let himself be pulled back against Saurfang’s warmth. He felt a hand brush his side, coming to rest on his hip. Another traced a line down the center of his chest. When it stopped Anduin bit his lip and made an undignified sound. Saurfang’s large hand cupped Anduin’s groin, applying only the lightest pressure, and he desperately wanted more. He leaned forward, chasing the heat of the orc’s touch.

Saurfang made a sound somewhere between amusement and surprise. “I wouldn’t expect you to be so eager for it,” he said.

Anduin didn’t have a chance to ask him what he meant; Saurfang pushed him down the rest of the way, forcing him to grip the sides of the bed to keep upright. The hand that had been between his legs instead grasped the catch of his pants and pulled hard, nearly jerking him off balance. He knew what was coming, and while the thought of it terrified him, it also filled him with a wild thrill that he couldn’t ignore. Saurfang pushed at the cloth covering one side of Anduin’s hips, and Anduin tugged at the other; he heard the rustle of cloth and the creak of leather behind him and swallowed hard. His fingers dug into the wood as he braced himself.

Nothing happened. Anduin turned to look over his shoulder, but Saurfang wasn’t standing over him any longer. He was just about to demand what sort of game the high overlord was playing when he felt the faint brush of fangs and the caress of rough lips, and then an achingly hot tongue was on him, lapping at him and leaving him slick. Anduin felt like the air had been punched from his lungs; he groaned and shuddered, gasping, “ _Light_ ,” into the empty space between his arms as they shook with the effort of holding him up. Saurfang chuckled and the warm puff of air rolled across Anduin’s sensitive skin, making him shiver. He felt large hands grasp his thighs to hold him still, and his fingertips came to rest at the sensitive juncture of his hips. It was too much and still he wanted more; Anduin was hard and aching, trying to fight the hold on him to seek friction that wasn’t there. If he’d had the presence of mind to let go of the bed he might have sought his own relief, but his body seemed somehow apart from him, out of his control.

When Saurfang gave him one last, languid stroke with his tongue and withdrew, it was all Anduin could do not to whine and beg for more. He cast a glance over his shoulder and found the orc was on his feet again. One of his hands remained at Anduin’s hip, but the other had disappeared. They locked eyes until Anduin felt the first touch of Saurfang’s hot and incredibly, _impossibly_ hard length pressing against him. He let his head fall between his arms again and instinctively arched away from the intrusion. Only Saurfang’s hand, now moved to grasp his shoulder, kept him from falling forward over the bed. He felt like he was being split in two, and the pain was so intense it made him dizzy. Then a faint shimmer of Light rolled down his body, and Anduin sighed as the sharp edge of pain faded to a dull throb, eventually giving way to the thrum of pleasure that had begun to build in his core.

Saurfang pushed forward until he was seated all the way to the base, and then rocked against Anduin’s backside one more time for good measure. He didn’t move again.

Anduin waited, still gulping each breath like a fish left out on the dock. He could feel every thick inch of Saurfang inside of him, but he needed friction. He needed movement. Looking back again he caught a smirk. “Wh—what?” he breathed out irritably.

“Show me,” Saurfang commanded. He ran his hands down Anduin’s back and gave his hips a gentle squeeze. “Show me how much you want this.”

Anduin groaned, turning it into a growl as he pushed back from the bed and shoved himself against Saurfang’s thighs. The orc grunted and rocked forward, nearly sending Anduin over the bed. “Good,” he said. He took a fistful of blond hair in his hand and tugged lightly. “Keep going.”

It took a few tries, but Anduin quickly found his rhythm; he leaned forward on his hands and thrust back against Saurfang, impaling himself on the orc’s massive girth. Each time he received an answering groan that seemed to melt through his skin and pool hot and heavy in his center. He started moving faster, panting into the cold air of the cell, slamming himself back against Saurfang as he chased his own pleasure. He could feel himself building toward climax, cresting a wave that would crash over him and drag him under. Just as he started to reach it he was stopped by hands too strong to ignore. Anduin fought to move again, to chase that last bit of sensation he needed, and when he was denied that he reached for his own cock to do it himself. Saurfang’s hands shot out and took Anduin’s wrists, bending his arms back until he could grip both with one hand. With the other he pushed Anduin’s head down into the rough cloth of the bed.

That was when Anduin discovered that what he had been doing, the pleasure he’d been chasing, was _nothing_ compared to what Saurfang could do to him. The shoddy bed creaked and groaned beneath him as Saurfang slammed into him from behind, driving both Anduin and the bed across the floor inch by inch. He bent down, keeping a hand on Anduin’s slender wrists, and took hold of the frame, using the leverage to drive even deeper. Anduin bit his lip to keep from crying out; if the guards came down to investigate they would see an orc prisoner mounting their king and act without hesitation, and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Deep, deep,” Anduin managed to gasp, trying to make the words come. “Please,” he whispered.

Saurfang snarled something unintelligible and nearly bent Anduin in two. “Is that what you want, my little king?” he growled into his blond hair.

Anduin tried to nod. He knew he was too far gone, too lost to make any more sense than that. When he heard a hitch in the heavy breath against his ear he had to suppress a whine; it was Saurfang’s turn then, biting back on a roar as he came, spilling deep inside Anduin’s body. He kept pumping his hips, thrusting even after he was finished, and _that_ pushed Anduin over the last inch of the climb. With Saurfang still draped over his back and buried within him he cried out against his arm and felt his climax overtake him. It wracked him, leaving him trembling, and—he was shocked to realize as the fog cleared—Saurfang held him through it.

When it was over Anduin hardly dared to breathe. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stand, and with the high overlord’s body still pinning his to the bed, he couldn’t even try. It felt as though several minutes passed before Saurfang finally stood up, carefully withdrawing. Anduin could feel a rivulet of warmth making its way down the back of his thigh. With the urgency gone, and that anxious feeling banished from his chest, he thought that he should feel ashamed—guilty, perhaps. Instead he only felt relieved.

Saurfang hauled him up onto his feet and Anduin winced at the sudden stab of protest from his spine. His pants were around his ankles, but the task of bending over to get them suddenly seemed unreasonably difficult. Without being asked, Saurfang reached down and pulled them up until they were close enough for Anduin to reach. He thanked the orc with a tired nod.

Making himself presentable for the darkness of the Stockade was simple enough; Anduin re-tied his hair and straightened his clothing without much difficulty. The bruises on his wrists, hips, and undoubtedly his thighs would be long to fade, but they could be covered easily by his clothes. It wasn’t that he felt anxious to leave—on the contrary, there was something strange and unidentifiable compelling him to stay, despite how ridiculous the idea seemed. He just felt it was necessary.

Necessary, like the question that had carried him down to the dark halls of the Stockade in the first place. Anduin turned on his heel and looked up into Saurfang’s eyes. “Why did you spare my life?” he asked one more time.

Saurfang appeared no worse for wear, despite what felt to Anduin like an actual battle had taken place. He was standing straight, and the fire inside him that seemed to have burned out was back, if still tempered by something. It looked as if it could go out again at any moment, and Anduin desperately wished to keep that from happening.

“Please,” he said.

Reaching out with one hand, Saurfang placed a finger below Anduin’s chin, tilting his head up slightly. “I hoped,” he began. The corners of his mouth lifted in something of a smile. But then his shoulders slumped, and he turned away again. Defeated, he whispered, “I hoped you would stop her.”

There was nothing Anduin could say to soothe the guilt he’d seen in Saurfang’s eyes; he had no comfort to offer that wasn’t a lie. All that was left to him was honesty. “I can’t,” he admitted, and the terrible truth of those words carved out a hollow place in his heart. He hadn’t said it, not even to Genn, but he knew there was no denying it any longer. Sylvanas would win if they could not find a way to turn the tide.

But perhaps _they_ could.

He reached out to lay the flat of his palm on Saurfang’s back; beneath his hand he could feel the warmth of powerful muscles, the way they bunched and pulled with every movement, and it made his heart beat faster. “Not alone.” It was an offer, but it was also meant as a comfort, and he hoped that much was clear. When Anduin stepped away again it was to open the cell door. This time he didn’t close it behind him.

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~I may write a sequel depending on how things go down in game~~ I am absolutely writing a sequel to this, look for it some time this week.


End file.
